


Hush

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Closet Sex, Creampie, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, F/M, Language, Multiple Orgasms, Sexy Dean Winchester, Shameless Smut, Tumblr: dirtysupernaturalimagines, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, dom!Dean, sir!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 22:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14555334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Inspired by this imagine: http://dirtysupernaturalimagines.tumblr.com/post/70442468350Imagine Dean talking dirty to you as he hits your spot with every thrust.





	Hush

“Yeah, well you just make sure Rowena doesn’t get outta that chair,” Dean grumbles into the cell pressed against his ear. “Did you double the chains?…Good. Triple em if you have to.”

There’s a brief pause and then he mutters a soft, “Hey - be safe, Sammy.” You smile to yourself, Dean Winchester - forever the protector.

“Yeah - yep, on it - text ya when we get in.” Dean brings the phone away, thumbing the red icon to end the call. You glance down, smoothing a hand over your black cocktail dress before snapping open your rhinestone-covered clutch to retrieve your typed-and-printed-at-the-last-minute phony invitation.

“You ready?” Dean asks, lifting an elbow for you to hook your arm through.

“As I’ll ever be,” you sigh.

You _really_ hate galas. You don’t see any other purpose to them other than for snooty rich bitches to show off their fancy clothes, plastic faces, and worthless junk. Well, _mostly_ worthless. Except for the enchanted necklace hiding somewhere in the venue. That definitely has something of value; dark magic to be exact.

And Rowena Macleod wants it.

It had taken her years to trace the whereabouts of the object, her search finally coming to an end in the city of Houston, Texas - where it was recently purchased by an oil tycoon (for God knows how much) as a 50th anniversary gift to his wife - completely ignorant of the crystal’s power.

You only know all this because Rowena fucked up. Big time - boasting to the boys about her next endeavor the last time one of her master plans was thwarted. She didn’t expect the hunters to actually use this information against her. And definitely didn’t expect them to beat her to its location.

All it had taken was a witch-summoning spell Sam had found in the archives to trap her, and then you and Dean were off to Texas.

The item appears to be any ordinary pendant to the naked eye; a plain silver chain adorned with a slender turquoise crystal - looking like any new-agey shit you could find at your standard hippie store. The only difference is that it possesses a formidable ancient magic.

All the skilled witch has to do is tap into that power. With a literal snap of her fingers, Rowena could potentially wipe out every living witch on the planet, subsequently absorbing all of their knowledge, power, and abilities.

She would be _unstoppable_.

So here you and Dean are, infiltrating this much-too-fancy party while Sam’s stuck back at the bunker babysitting the petite red-head.

Getting in is almost too easy - thank God for technology; you can forge just about anything these days. The venue is impressive; with its high ceiling, massive golden chandelier, towering ivory walls embossed with intricate designs, and there’s a curved, marble staircase on either side of the gargantuan room.

Round tables covered with pristine, white tablecloths are scattered across the spacious marble floor. Even this dishes topping the surfaces must cost a fortune, the dinner plates rimmed in what looks like solid gold.

“Should we split up?” you ask, eyes darting around the room.

Dean bites his plump lip as he thinks. “Yeah - got your phone handy?”

Already in your hand, you wave it up at him. “Alright,” he says, “if we don’t hear from each other in ten minutes, we meet right back here.”

“Got it.” You slip your arm from his as you depart, weaving through the mass of suits and sparkly dresses as you make your way to the stairs.

A long, black, ornate rug stripes down the white, mottled floor. The carpeted material stifles the loud click of your heels as you slowly walk down the corridor, testing doorknobs along the way. They’re all locked and you frown at each one. You’re no good at picking locks. You pull out your phone and then-

Bingo.

The handle gives way and you swing the door open to darkness. You run your hand along the wall, stopping when you feel the light switch. You flip it on and… It’s a fucking storage closet. You shrug; may as well look.

You toss your clutch on one of the shelves as you squat to rummage around, sifting through folded tablecloths, towels, cleaning bottles, and brooms . You pause at a shuffling sound behind you and when you turn around, Dean is crowding into the small space, slamming the door shut.

“Shit,” he pants, leaning back against the closed door to catch his breath.

“The hell happened?” You gawk at him. “Have you been running?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Got busted pickin’ a lock.”

“By who?” you ask, frowning up at him. “Dunno,” he says, “but he’s big.” You can’t stop the giggle. _Dean’s_ a big guy himself, so you’re imagining some huge, hulk-like dude thundering after him down the fancy hallway.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. He turns, his head swiveling around him before his eyes fall on a metal chair folded agains the wall. “Perfect…” He gets a grip on the metal sides of it and then _jerks_ it up underneath the brass doorknob.

“Where’s the fuckin’ lightswitch?”

“Behind you,” you point. He twists around, and in a blink, the light’s off - blanketing the room in black; only a thin sliver of yellow light from the hallway filters in under the bottom of the door.

“What are you - “

“Shh!” There’s the faint brush of foot steps getting louder and louder - and then stop. You look down, there’s a blurry shadow blotting out the strip of light- you hold your breath. The doorknob jiggles against the metal chair. And two suffocating seconds later, the shadow vanishes and you feel your body slump with relief.

You go to turn on the light and then a hand is blindly reaching for you, gathering a fistful of your dress at your hip and _yanking_ you back against a muscled chest.

“Dean! What the f-” The arm snakes around your waist as a thick palm clamps over your mouth.

“Shh! They’re still fuckin’ looking for me!” he hisses.

It shouldn’t turn you on, but the thick arm holding you so warm against him coupled with the warm hand glued to your mouth is kindling a fire down below. You test his hold, leaning forward, but his grip tightens around you.

It’s not at all intentional, but you can’t stop the moan into his palm. He doesn’t say anything - maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he mistook it for a frustrated grunt. But then the arm around your middle slips down - your breath catches in your throat.

 _Lower_.

And then his pinkie slips down to brush you _there_ , right over your clit, through your satiny dress and lace panties. Yeah, you’re wearing lace panties. Black lace - his favorite.

“Shi-” you groan, the word muffled against his hand. Your hips jerk back in response to his stroking finger, and he uses the heel of his palm to pull you flush against him, right against the hardening lump at your lower back.

“Look what you did,” he whispers, warm breath fanning over your scalp. His words go straight to your cunt, and you feel the first wave of slick collect in your panties.

“Mmmf,” you grunt. You have one hand gripping the wrist at your mouth, the other the wrist at your waist, anchoring yourself to him so you don’t melt into a puddle at his feet.

It all happens in a second - you’re being flipped around, making an ‘oomph’ noise as your back collides with the wall. He gets a grip on your wrists, gathering them in one hand to slam them against the painted sheetrock above you. The way he absolutely _manhandles_ you makes you breathless - _how can he even see?_

He shoves a hand between your legs, up and under the hem of your dress, hiking the silky material around your thighs as his fingers go straight for your core. He doesn’t waste any time, slipping a thick finger underneath the crotch of your panties to swipe through your arousal.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re a mess down here.”

You squirm against the wall, against his wriggling fingers. “Please,” you gasp, “you can’t…we can’t-”

“Hush, baby.” His fingers twitch against your wrists. “We’re stuck in here for a while,” he whispers, “and we got a little problem.” A blunt fingertip presses against your weeping entrance. “I’m hard and you’re fucking dripping. Whaddya think we should do about that, hmm?”

You suck in a lungful of air as he plunges the finger inside. “N-no, we gotta find the-” He slicks the finger back out; you whimper. “We gotta…”

-in-

“Oh _goddd_ …Please, Dean-”

-out-

“Shit, we don’t have time-” Another finger nudges up against your opening and your eyes roll back as he pushes two thick digits into you.

“That’s it, honey. Just relax n’ enjoy.”

You want so badly to hold onto him, to dig your fingers into the smooth fabric of his suit jacket, but his iron grip on your wrists holds you tight against the wall. Your mouth goes slack, fingernails digging crescent moons into your palms when he quickens his pace, pumping you higher and higher.

Your knees give when he curls his fingers just _right_ , brushing against that rough patch deep inside that electrifies you all over. He releases your wrists to catch you around the waist, your arms immediately dropping to finally clutch at his jacket.

“Look at you, baby. Can’t even stand up.” His hand leaves your aching core, only to replace it with the hard muscle of his thigh. The soft material of his slacks feels so good against your bare skin and he’s pressing so _perfectly_ against your lace-covered mound, rock hard bulge mashing into your hip.

It’s subtle at first, starts with just a twitch of muscle, but quickly gaining speed and pressure as he grinds his leg against you.

“Oh - oh, fu-” It’s not really a moan, not really a gasp, more of a heavy gust of breath pushing past your teeth.

“ _Jesus_ , kid…you’re gonna ruin my pants. This shit was expensive.”

 _Like you paid for it yourself,_ says a voice somewhere at the back of your lust-addled brain.

“You gonna come on my fuckin’ leg?” he rumbles.

“Nnh-no-” you whisper-choke into his chest.

“S’okay if you do,” he breathes. “I _really_ won’t mind.” Your clit flares.

He nudges forward, pressing harder against you. “ _Mmmfuck_ ,” you gasp. You can feel your excitement soaking into the polyester of his slacks, and you know it won’t be long. You’re suddenly aware of your own hips rolling against him, and _shit_ the solid drag of him feels _so_ fucking good.

He gets a hold on either side of your waist, pressing his fingers into you through your dress as guides your movements, pulling you harder; faster. Your grip on his jacket goes painfully tight, your fingers locking in place as he humps you against him.

The necklace is long forgotten as electric heat builds and builds between your legs. Your eyes hurt from squeezing them shut so tightly, and speaking is no longer possible, only strangled gasps and moans pushing out from your throat.

Dean is jerking you against him now and you can feel the bruises manifesting along your hips from his clutching fingers. His bass-deep voice pierces into you. “C’mon, baby,” he grunts, “let go for me and I’ll fill you up nice and _thick_.”

Boom.

White flashes burst behind your eyelids as you come, grinding your climax into the soaked material of his pants. The intensity of it would’ve had you doubled over if it wasn’t for the towering mass of his body holding you upright. You can feel your cunt fluttering and spasming against the hardness of his thigh as your orgasm continues to wreck you.

Dean thumbs circles into your aching hips as your nerves settle, pressing a warm kiss into the top of your head.

“Atta girl,” he rumbles.

Your body feels like a boneless, jellied mass of flesh. “I…shit - I think I need to sit down,” you groan.

“Nah, I gotcha.” And then he’s gripping you behind the thighs, sliding you up the wall to wrap your legs around his solid waist. Your ankles lock behind him, your hands releasing his jacket to find purchase on his shoulders as you ascend.

He wastes no time rutting into you, grinding his covered erection directly into your sensitive core in a way that makes your whole body _twitch_.

A hand leaves your left thigh as he works his pants open and then you feel warm fingers pushing your panties aside. You whimper when the wide head of his cock nudges against you, rubbing teasingly up and down your slick folds. You grit your teeth in wait for the coming penetration while his hot mouth meets the crook of your neck, sucking hard into the flesh as he slowly pushes into you.

Your thighs tense around his waist as you take him in, your fingers curling into the smooth material covering his shoulders. He doesn’t move at first, just holds you impaled against him. He takes your right wrist in his hand, moving it to seal over your mouth. “I need you to be quiet baby, understand?” The dominating undertone of his voice makes your pussy seize. You nod.

And then he’s _slamming_ into you over and over.

You go limp, not expecting him to start with such a _ferocious_ pace. Pain blossoms across your lower back as he roughly fucks you into the wall, reminding you just how much strength is stored within the hunter’s trained body. You can hear his pants rustling, his belt buckle clinking as he thrusts into you.

“Goddamn baby,” Dean pants. “You’re gonna be fuckin’ useless to me after this. Think you’ll be able to walk?” You can only mewl.

The closet goes silent except for Dean’s panting grunts and your muffled whines. You feel a shift in his arms as he moves to brace his hands against the wall, the leverage enabling him to pound into you even harder; deeper, bumping into your g-spot with every slick plunge.

He’s panting into your ear, whispering filthy nothings as he fucks into you,

“You gonna come again for me, baby? I know y’are…I can feel that needy pussy squeezing me. You feel so good, so fuckin’ wet for me.”

Your voice rises with every word, every snap of his hips and within a few short minutes you’re _wailing_ into your palm.

He stops suddenly, your cunt throbbing around him as he jerks your hand away to replace it with his own. “I thought I told you to hush.” The low register of his voice resonates straight to your bones. You shudder.

“You gonna be quiet or am I gonna have to gag you with my dick?”

Oh _god_.

You vehemently nod against his palm. He peels his fingers away to hover a whisper length from your lips. “Answer me.” His voice is bordering on cold.

“Y-yeah,” you breathe.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you echo.

“Yes…” _Oh_. He’s going _there_.

“Yes, sir.” Fuck, just uttering the title has your cunt clenching.

“That’s my good girl.” He fits his hand back against your mouth as he settles back into his ruthless rhythm. You loop your hands around his rolling biceps, clinging onto him as he spears into you. You clamp your teeth together to keep the noises inside, but you can’t hold in the sharp grunts his hammering cock punches out of you.

His pelvic bone rams into your clit with every thrust while the wide head of his dick batters that secret patch that only he can reach, stoking the undying fire inside.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants. His rhythm begins to falter; he’s close. “Come on, baby -don’t hold back, let me have it.”

 _“Fuck!”_ you screech into his palm as you clamp down on him. Dean quickly follows, coating your spasming walls as he fucks his climax into you.

You whimper as gravity pulls his warm spendings from your channel, oozing from your opening to dribble down over his softening length. You groan when he pulls out, easing you back to your feet as he tucks himself away.

You blink at the blinding light when Dean flips the switch back on, squinting hard as your eyes struggle to adjust. He tosses you a folded towel to clean yourself up with, and you feel a little-but-not-really guilty as you slip the soiled cloth back underneath the stack.

“You think it’s safe to leave?” you ask, combing your fingers through your sweat-damp hair. After all, you still have a job to do.

Dean smiles boyishly, flushed and sated. “Probably, but I hate to,” he winks.

You lazily grin back, walking up to smooth your hands over his wrinkled suit jacket. “There are closets in the bunker you know…”

He sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip at your suggestion. “This is true,” he nods, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “We can kick Sammy out for the night. Then you can be as loud as you want.”

You beam up at him, “Sounds like a plan.”


End file.
